


The Perfect Guest

by entanglednow



Series: Hospitality [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Is A Naughty Guest, Crowley Is A Generous Host, M/M, Pining, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: After inviting Aziraphale back to his flat, Crowley suggests he take a shower to relax. Aziraphale thinks that's a great idea. But it doesn't take him very long to notice that the bathroom comes with unexpected extras.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hospitality [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632205
Comments: 119
Kudos: 742
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations





	The Perfect Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Due to popular request, this is Aziraphale's POV of Make Yourself At Home. I've collapsed the universes into one by observing. I hope you're happy Schrödinger! *shakes fist*

It really has been a very long day, for the both of them.

Aziraphale would love to say that the whole thing had been a confusing whirlwind of poor decisions that he barely remembers. But he's an angel and he remembers everything - even when he misplaces it somewhere in the vast store of knowledge that is his true self, it's always there, catalogued and dated, with his own emotional notes scribbled in the margin. 

Today was not a good day for him, he's behaved very poorly overall, rather too much going through the motions and not enough listening and thinking and _trusting_. Meanwhile Crowley has been nothing but supportive, has offered him nothing but help and reassurance and unwavering loyalty. Even after everything was over, he'd held Aziraphale's hand all the way back to Mayfair, and then invited him into his home, since his own had been destroyed. A fact which is still sinking in, to be honest. The demon would never have protested that they weren't friends to his face, unwilling to even entertain the idea that anything else was the truth. He's been far more forgiving than Aziraphale deserves, and he feels rather ashamed.

Crowley seems determined not to let him wallow in it though, seating himself beside him and gently nudging him with an arm.

"Hey, you can take a shower if you like." Crowley gestures towards a door further along the hall, the bathroom, Aziraphale assumes. "It might make you feel a bit more like yourself, get your head together."

Aziraphale gives him a grateful smile. Because that does sound like a perfectly lovely idea right now. But he really doesn't want to impose on Crowley any more than necessary. He's already been far too kind about the whole thing. He must look uncertain, because Crowley's mouth pulls up at the corner, something close to a smile, and Aziraphale doesn't want to disappoint him any more.

"You wouldn't mind?" 

Crowley makes a protesting noise, mouth scrunched in a way that manages to be both ridiculous and endearing.

"Course not, angel. I told you to make yourself at home and I meant it."

"That does sound nice," Aziraphale admits with a nod. He settles both hands on his thighs. Which draws his attention to the left one, outlined against the pale material of his trousers. It's filthy, dirt smudged along his fingers in streaks and smears. He can't help the sound of distressed apology he makes. The first time he's invited to Crowley's pristine flat and he's covered in dirt. He can't remember if he'd touched anything since they got here, if he'd left dirty fingerprints anywhere, and the thought _pains_ him. What a terrible guest he is. "And I appear to be in need of one, polite of you not to mention it." 

Crowley gives a short, breathy laugh and helps him to his feet, fingers tangled with Aziraphale's just a fraction longer than necessary, in a way that warms him all the way through. In a way that makes him wonder - makes him hope - that they can keep this new and unexpected intimacy. Crowley shows him to the bathroom, which is an exceptionally large, dark grey room, with soft accents of black, white and silver.

There's a large shower set between three walls, and a recessed floor area with steps leading down, which seems to be the bathtub. He thinks he makes some sort of impressed noise, though his attention is immediately diverted back to the shower, because what he'd first assumed was a shower attachment is in fact - not a shower attachment. Aziraphale is rather astonished once he realises what it is. Oh, he knows perfectly well what a dildo is, he wasn't born yesterday and he's been an inhabitant of Soho for more than two hundred years. He just hadn't known that they could be...attached to surfaces in such a way. That's actually - that's actually quite clever, the things humans think of! 

Aziraphale spends a moment wondering whether he should be embarrassed about having his attention drawn to it or not. It's perfectly understandable that someone - that Crowley even - might feel the need for sexual release while in such an environment, but to be so confident about it, to be so relaxed about one's own pleasure. Aziraphale can't help but feel a twinge of envy. 

"I know the room's three times the size it needs to be," Crowley says suddenly, knocking him out of his own thoughts. "But sometimes you just have to be a giant snake in a giant bathtub."

It's such a wonderful gift of a mental image, Crowley slithering around indulging himself under a spill of water and bubbles, that Aziraphale has to smile at him. He would dearly love to see that some time, would love Crowley to feel comfortable enough to invite him in during such a private moment. Crowley gives a quiet huff that sounds amused, and then snaps his fingers sharply. Aziraphale feels the prickle of occult power that leaves Crowley holding a stack of fluffy, black towels, neatly folded, warmth emanating from them in a way he can't help but be touched by.

"Here." Crowley offers them towards him, and Aziraphale reaches out and takes them with both hands.

"Thank you, Crowley, really, for everything." There's so much he wants to say, so much he wants to apologise for, that he wants to explain. He's not sure he'll be able to find the right words, or to arrange them in the right order. But Crowley deserves so much better than he's given him lately, he feels like he has to try.

"No," Crowley protests with a grimace, as if he can feel it all swelling in the distance and refuses to let Aziraphale name any of it. "None of that. Just - just yell if you need anything."

Perhaps he's right, perhaps now is not the time. Aziraphale nods and pats the towels.

"Of course. Oh, is it alright if I use your...er -" He's not sure what he'll need, and Crowley has so many shampoos and soaps in here, arranged artfully on a curving, snake-effect shelf. The idea of using Crowley's shampoo does thrill him a touch, the thought of smelling like him, of going through a similar routine in the same intimate space, is oddly exciting. But the bottles and tubes all look quite expensive, and he doesn't know which he's allowed to use.

"Yeah, sure, anything you want, have at it, angel." Crowley smiles and waves a hand, in a way that feels enthusiastic and encouraging.

Aziraphale nods again, and gently pushes the door shut after him.

His eyes are drawn helplessly back to the expanse of the shower, and the sex toy still displayed rather proudly on the wall. It's been a long time since he's been in anyone else's bathroom. Perhaps this is a more common habit than he thinks now? Perhaps Crowley is simply doing what's expected, what people who follow a cutting edge modern aesthetic and have fast, exciting lives, tend to do. It seems faintly ridiculous, but then many things which become popular do at first.

"Oh," he says suddenly. Because it occurs to him that Crowley is absolutely aware that the wall-mounted dildo is in here. He'd been aware of it when Aziraphale asked if he could -

He'd meant the shampoo, _of course he had_. But it could so easily have been construed as a request to - to sate himself in a more physical way with the available - er - tools, as it were. More importantly Crowley seemed not the slightest bit bothered by the possibility, he seemed happy about it, in fact. Did Crowley just give him permission to - it seems shockingly possible. The demon has always been unfailingly generous with his time, and his belongings.

No, no, _Heaven's no_ , he should make use of the facilities to clean himself up, and stop getting distracted by lewd thoughts, this is neither the time nor the place. 

Aziraphale carefully unbuttons and unclips his way free of his clothes, leaving them hanging carefully on some quickly miracled hangers. He reassures himself that there's no reason to feel uncomfortable while naked in Crowley's bathroom. He's been naked with the demon present before, more than once, they've both lived through six thousand years of humanity trying to decide when and where they were comfortable with nudity. Without much general consensus on the subject. Aziraphale has always thought Crowley's human form was beautiful, but the demon had taken offence so easily at the beginning. He hadn't quite known how to phrase it, and then he simply never had.

He steps into the shower, spends a moment marvelling at the many settings, that provide a variety of temperatures, angles and quantities of water. It really is a fascinating thing and he finds himself just a touch jealous. He's always been more fond of a bath, personally, but this is _very nice_.

He finds a citrus shampoo with a hint of camphor, that's both familiar and pleasing, not his usual sort of thing at all, which makes it somehow more appealing. He chooses a soap at random, fearing that he'll spend far too long smelling them otherwise. The falling water is blissful against his skin, after all the stress of averting Armageddon and being discorporated, then being thrust into a new body provided by the Antichrist. Yes, the warmth seeping into his corporation is exactly what he'd needed.

When he takes a step back, to wash lower down, he's unexpectedly jabbed in the buttock by the unyielding head of the dildo, and feels all the breath stutter out of him. Well, perhaps it wasn't everything he currently needed.

_He really shouldn't_.

Aziraphale still finds himself reaching a hand back, without letting himself think about it too much, fingers curling testingly around that hard line of almost-warm silicone. It's wet from the shower, long enough that the slide of his hand takes a few seconds to reach the base, and thick enough to give him a surprised moment of pause.

It's easy to imagine that Crowley has made use of it while in here, his slender body a long, stretched-out curve under the water, seeing to his needs in more ways than one.

_Does he prefer them like this?_

The question seems shockingly personal, but it's very difficult to be in here with the thing and not wonder whether it was chosen for aesthetic purposes, or with a personal preference in mind. Aziraphale's aware that this is far past a curious exploration and certainly into consideration territory. But he decides that he has no reason to feel embarrassed, or guilty, Crowley had given him permission after all. Perhaps jokingly, with no expectation that Aziraphale would take advantage of the opportunity. Perhaps with a flare of amusement, at how unlikely the idea was. But permission nonetheless.

He's almost fully erect, and it seems a terrible waste not to take advantage of the tools at hand.

Aziraphale finds himself slowly stroking the flushed length of his cock, in his best friend's bathroom, to thoughts of using the dildo that Crowley himself had almost certainly used in the past. The demon had been in this same shower, the toy grasped in one hand as he backed himself onto it, letting it open him out. Perhaps gasping around the stretch of it. Aziraphale blinks into the spray. He finds himself letting a miracle trickle out, adjusting the thing a touch down the wall, since his beautiful demon's legs are a bit longer than his own. He doesn't have to use it, of course, it's just an experimental readjusting. To see if it would be compatible with his needs, that's all. To see how it would feel -

He can justify it to himself as much as he likes, but the way he's currently letting it slip gently between his thighs, to nudge the wet hang of his balls is probably far too telling. It's no longer a tease, he suspects he's simply waiting to see if he's going to talk himself out of it. When no sensible argument is given, he finds himself sparing a miracle to add lubricant and a touch of relaxation to his anus. It feels daring and reckless, even before he's done anything untoward. But it seems such a shame to waste the preparation now, and this very handily situated toy that is striking him as a better idea the longer he thinks about it.

He moves forward a little, silicone dragging against the slippery warmth of his hole. Then he reaches back and uses a hand to spread himself a little, which strikes him as deliciously lewd, and it would make his desire so obvious, were it a real person behind him. Were it a real person and not a tool he plans to use for his own pleasure. He lets the head catch on the clench of his body, and then carefully eases himself backwards until he feels pressure, lets the head breach him.

It's strangely hard against the soft clench of his rim, pushing him open in a way that leaves him exhaling a moan at the shivery, constant stretch. There's no give to it, it's solid and unyielding as it fills him, and he finds that he likes it, biting his lip and giving slow, teasing tugs on his cock. It's bigger than he expects without the give of flesh and blood, a beautiful sting that he pushes through on a shiver of pleasure. When he settles it completely inside him he takes a moment to breathe, to adjust to the fullness. Before he slides forward, and then back again, a slow sinking movement that nudges it in at an odd angle, he adjusts and tries again. He finds something better, something his body is more than happy with, starts to move in a slow rhythm.

Oh, that is very nice indeed.

_Please, yes._

He mouths it silently, certain that no one should hear it, especially not the demon who's probably roaming the flat, completely unaware of what Aziraphale's doing in here, of how utterly, shamelessly wanton he's being. Crowley can't possibly think that he'd be working his stretched arse back onto the same toy that had probably already given Crowley pleasure, and Aziraphale can't help but groan into the stream of water, and clench tightly down on that unyielding silicone.

He can't help wondering how Crowley does this. How he likes to use it.

Does he take it hard? His demon can be so impatient, so reckless with his own needs. Aziraphale very rarely sees him indulge himself, much to his disappointment. Is he rough with himself? Does he take himself at a bruising pace, hands flat on the wall, hissing through his teeth, while he buries the dildo inside himself over and over. It's so easy to picture Crowley greedily rushing himself to an orgasm.

Would he want Aziraphale to take him like that, with quick, hard thrusts that he'd have to brace for? Would he want to be pinned to the slippery, wet wall, buttocks spread apart, so Aziraphale could watch Crowley's body stretch open for his cock? Would he make delightfully indecent noises every time Aziraphale pushed in to the hilt? Or is that how Crowley would desire to use him instead, sliding in hard and desperate, opening Aziraphale over and over - just like he's being opened now.

He clenches down sharply at the thought, giving a low, drawn-out groan at the ache it causes. He's unsure which of those he finds most pleasing - which of them he wants most. Aziraphale's body is equally greedy for both.

Would Crowley be rough with him, grasp his hips and chase his own pleasure in Aziraphale's willing - so very willing - body. Perhaps he would even press Aziraphale's body into the wall, pin him there with his long hands and drive in hard and deep, murmuring his name, calling him _angel_.

Aziraphale shudders, pushing back until the toy is fully buried inside him, a thick, nudging pressure against his prostate that leaves him squirming and working his cock desperately, slippery fingers drawing his orgasm out before he's ready for it. Until he's moaning out a breath, whole body tight, anus twitching and clenching around the stiff, hard weight inside him, while he watches the spray from the shower wash the evidence of his pleasure away.

Oh.

Aziraphale comes back to himself still speared open, hands spread flat on the wall, the water pouring over him. He was perhaps a little more enthusiastic than he'd intended to be. 

He eases himself slowly forward, feeling the sensitive rim of his hole ache as the dildo slips out of him. He's not quite steady on his feet, still trembling and warmly satisfied, the unbelievable stress of the day finally draining out of him and sluicing away with the water.

This really was an excellent idea.

He rinses himself. Then lets a miracle flow over the shower, making sure everything inside is clean and back where it belongs. He feels somewhat uncomfortable leaving any evidence that he'd accepted Crowley's very generous offer, and more than a little guilty that Crowley had been such a vivid part of the whole affair. He miracles himself dry and back into his clothes, which are now clean and pressed, before giving his hair one last considering look. 

Once he decides he's presentable enough, he takes a breath and opens the door.

Only to find Crowley on the other side, expression startled and nervous. Good Heavens, was he out here the whole time? Did he...did he hear anything? The thought is so unexpected and so terribly embarrassing that the only way forward is to pretend that nothing untoward happened at all, and simply power through. Aziraphale plasters a large smile on his face, something surprised and happy. 

"Oh, that was an excellent idea, Crowley. I feel so much better. That was exactly what I needed, very invigorating." He can't stop himself from reaching out, curling a hand just above Crowley's elbow, feeling the familiar narrowness of him. Wanting, as always, to find some excuse to keep touching him. But Aziraphale realises that he absolutely must distract himself for a few moments, and he squeezes gently, before releasing him. "I'm feeling quite peckish now. Why don't I make us a snack while you take a turn in the shower, and then we can hash out something in the way of a plan."

Yes, a plan, he'd rather lost sight of that in all the, er, excitement.

They will need to have a plan.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Perfect Guest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871730) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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